


You were my collection, an addiction out of style

by Squiffles



Category: Kyman - Fandom, South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Injury, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, No Happy Ending Fest, Possible Character Death, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squiffles/pseuds/Squiffles
Summary: Stan is so close to winning the Homecoming game he can taste it until Wendy admits something he didn't anticipate, Kyle's just ready for basketball tryouts to finally start so he can try to make the team and aim for the Denver Nuggets, Kenny's finally coming to understand his purpose in life when things take an unexpected turn for him and everyone else involved, and Eric Cartman is forced to finally get his feelings off his chest when faced with the possibility of losing the one thing he ever really cared about. (Aged up.. mostly.)
Relationships: Eric Cartman/Heidi Turner, Kenny McCormick/Bebe Stevens, Kyle Broflovski/Bebe Stevens, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. And so it Begins

Self Centered, egotistical, narcissistic, homophobic, those could all be accurate traits to describe Eric Cartman.

By now the people of South Park had been use to his frivolous antics, those around him often times even _enabling_ him. There were his few friends in particular that chose to stick by his side for whatever reason, and then there was Liane Cartman, the source of his entire myriad of problems. A lying, dirty, child neglecting whore. _It had all been her fault, and she hadn't cared about him at all,_ or so he told himself. And he had mostly been right, except she cared about him more than he could imagine and was the only reason she did what she did. But he had convinced himself that that wasn't true years ago and nothing would ever change that.

He had seen too many things he shouldn't have, heard too many in his youth.

He'd go on to blame that for the reason he began to have thoughts he knew he shouldn't have at the age of twelve. He'd start to curiously take in the frame of a few of his classmates a little too closely before he'd notice his teachers glare from the corner of his eye, the gaze tearing through him as he'd rip his attention away, eyelids covering his heterochromic eyes as he gazed up almost daring for confrontation, but by now they all knew better.

But as he had gotten another year older nothing had gotten easier, and he had been struggling even harder to suppress his true interest in the same sex, so innocently and blissfully ignorant to what feelings would soon begin to take hold of him.

He had been so unaware of it, in fact, that he had let himself get a little too close one too many times in their silly little fights, their games almost becoming a dance routine. The sweat had collected at the end of Kyle's nose as he stopped in synch with Cartman, his face mere inches from his as he stood his ground, cheeks flushed, waiting for the larger boy to make his move; Only, he had never been able to. Cartman would rather die than admit he had always been defeated by the smaller, relentless redhead. But never physically. He would always inadvertently make Cartman feel a certain type of way, something bizarre enough to cause him to forget everything and unleash his anger, taking it out on the source of his confusion, rattling off every obscenity he could think of before turning and punching him in the gut, leading to another endless round of fighting that would leave at least one of them bleeding and swearing off their friendship for good.

And again and again he'd find himself in constant situations with Kyle, even into their adolescence he would continue to endlessly berate and tease the boy. But they were starting to get older, and Kyle was quickly growing less and less forgiving.

The worst part was that Cartman didn't quite understand it yet, he didn't know exactly _why_ getting close to Kyle made him react the way he did, it wasn't the same when he was younger. He didn't know why he caught himself staring at the boy, waiting for something else to happen. And even after everything, each and every time, he didn't know why Kyle _kept coming back._

He'd often let his mind dangerously wander a little too long before he'd notice his stare would be fixated on the daywalker. He'd chalk it up to morbid curiosity and quickly look away before the red heads gaze would barely catch his, his brows furrowing as if to ask what he wanted without actually opening his mouth to vocalize his thoughts, but Cartman had preferred it that way, after all. Kyle had a tendency to ask a lot of questions, and that often got Eric into trouble. Too often, he sometimes thought. He knew Kyle had sharp wit and a quick tongue that could easily back him into a corner, and with the right lie he'd often times find himself at a dead end, an unfortunate demise in sight.

As the months wore on he seemed to be getting somewhat use to the nature of the creeping thoughts intruding into his brain, but it was still very new territory for the quickly maturing boy. He soon became all too aware that he wasn't sure if he was starting to notice the growing boy in very different ways or just starting to actually lose his god damn mind. Still choosing to not even acknowledge that could even be a real possibility, he would continue to take the only course of action he knew how, unleashing his pain on his problems, continuing to go out of his way to make Kyle's life a living hell.

He'd often think back on many of their fights in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep, his thoughts recurring like a lucid dream he was reliving. He'd lie in bed as he tossed his small stuffed animal back and forth against the wall, desperate to distract himself from the knowledge of what his mother was currently doing two rooms over with a stranger, her sounds barely stifled by the cheap headphones wedged into the boys ear canals.

**~**

Kyle let his eyes flutter shut as the young nurse applied pressure, the bag of ice gently making contact with his tender red ankle, penetrating the pain and starting to make the skin go numb. He welcomed the brief sign of relief as he was finally handed the ice pack so she could finish up her paperwork and send him back to class, which he prayed wouldn't be gym again, hopeful he had wasted enough time in there as he couldn't take another confrontation so soon. Before long his thoughts got the best of him and started their old habits, toying with him, taunting him even, a familiar feeling he knew all too well, especially here recently. He often found himself wallowing in self hatred afterwards, knowing he had inadvertently given in to Cartman once again.

But this time was different. There had been nothing leading up to it, no fight, no argument, no _foreplay,_ so to speak; but for them, it might as well be. He had been a team player, a real outstanding guy in his eyes. Despite biting his tongue and wanting to punch the fuck out of Cartman he had gone silent and let the other kids boss each other around for positions before the game had even started. But then again here he was, the one currently wearing a busted lip and sprained ankle.

"Team up alphabetically!" the coach had shouted, reminding Kyle why he had come to hate gym just so very much. Without saying a word like he usually would, he had unwillingly accepted his fate as he got in position as far away from Cartman as he possibly could, not being in the particular mood to start an argument that day. Token had claimed goalie before Cartman could whine "no I wanna be goalie!" before Token backed in again with " _I'M GOALIE_ , fat boy." before shoving him aside. Cartman had finally folded his arms giving up, trotting to his place in formation behind Kyle.

The other team was a few points down after only 15 minutes or so, Token coming in every time and kicking the ball away from the goal. It was getting closer to the other side when Kyle started running to the ball about to kick it in the goal when Cartman came out of nowhere, kicking Kyle's foot along with the ball, getting it past their goalie and into the net, winning the game. The unexpected motion and pain ripped through him causing Kyle to lose his balance and topple to the ground, his arm hitting himself in the face. "What the _fuck_ , Cartman! I had it! We were gonna win you asshole!" Kyle cried out from the pain of his sprained ankle while Cartman sneered over him, enjoying the sight of Kyle's desperate shaking frame as he clutched his calf. Almost catching himself about to shoot a pathetic gaze, he contorted his face into a stoic expression before his demanding tone took over. "Yeah well _I_ fucking won."

Kyle sat with his eyes closed as he quietly hummed, his head nonchalantly falling back and forth against the cool brick as the thoughts played over and over in his head. He had seen malice in the boy before, many times over, his intentions pure and unadulterated, but this time he wasn't so sure. There had been a glint in his eye, something about him was off. He was unhinged, and Kyle was determined not to give a single fuck.

Involuntarily perking up at the faint sound, he had expected to be released but was instantly disappointed when he quickly noticed the door had just cracked open long enough for Cartman to quietly squeeze his way in, bloody nose hidden behind a single tissue in hand. Cartman's eyes darted to the smaller boy folded in the chair in the corner, his intrusive presence causing Kyle to shift uncomfortably.

After taking a paper from the nurse he had slid over as far as he could and slumped down into the seat, merely two chairs away from Kyle in the cramped makeshift Nurse's office. "Jew," he muffled, deciding not to even glance in Kyle's direction nor remove the tissue when he spoke.

A faint smirk couldn't help but play its way onto Kyle's lips as he finally started to realize what had happened. Before he could comment on it and get the satisfyingly sweet answer, the only boy who could take credit for Cartman's busted nose entered the room, ready to escort his best friend back to class as he grabbed his backpack and jacket.

"Since when the fuck is Marsh your body guard?" Cartman spat as he rolled his eyes, the tissue still bunched up under his nose as he tried to tear his gaze away from Kyle leaning into Stan's shoulder as he braced himself for support. Kyle mimicked him, his eyes rolling as they often did when the two exchanged words, although he held his tongue until he was almost out the door. Before finally turning to leave, he decided he wouldn't hold back this time. "Get over yourself, Cartman," he finally sighed, quickly turning to leave but not quite fast enough to miss what he swore was a glimmer of hurt in Cartman's eyes.

**~**

He could distinctly recall the way the boy had hobbled out of the room while leaning onto the dirty hippie, his injured ankle now preventing him from aimlessly prancing around gym class like he owned the place, like his basketball skills were truly ungodly and couldn't be matched. Cartman had only wanted to knock him down a peg, after all, desperate to boost his ego and reassure himself he wasn't losing his grasp on reality.

But in that moment he knew he felt the first sign of hurt that he could ever clearly describe to anyone that might care enough to ask. He could unmistakably put a word he had heard countless times to a feeling he now held in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he once thought he was immune to.

He knew it could mean one thing, and one thing only. He was utterly and unequivocally _fucked._


	2. Bliss

Eric would often times think back to how he got here, what had caused this particular series of events to transpire.

He could mostly tolerate the long, cold days, distracted by school and the incessant bitching he and Kyle would never fail to partake in. At times he'd often wonder if he sought conflict just for sport, eagerly arguing with the boy every chance he got. But he knew torturing Kyle had been a way to relieve pressure, only momentarily taking his mind off the deepest pain he held. It had been his escape. He knew he'd get a little closer than he should have, and he knew their confrontations would often times provoke an almost unpleasant but familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he'd try so hard to fight, bitterly resisting the temptation, determined not to succumb to his darkest thoughts and desires as he'd push the Jew away from him with every bit of strength he could muster.

But in the dead of night it was different. He was abandoned with only his thoughts for company, his mother gone yet again. There was no where to run, no distraction, nothing to focus on in the deafening silence. No escaping reality nor disappearing from his thoughts however hard he may try. He'd toss and turn, losing sleep to his demons that would snag at the edges of the deepest recess of his brain, interrogating him, wanting an excuse for the pitiful man he was starting to become.

Mind racing, he'd begin to speculate just why he had been so fascinated in boys to begin with, often times finding himself infatuated with the way Kyle and so many of his classmates moved in their gym shorts. He'd furiously think back to the exact moment it began, to the moment he could pinpoint what exactly his mother had said or done to influence him, to make him turn out the way he was. He needed a reason, an excuse, something. He desperately needed anything. But he had replayed every minute and every moment his brain could recall. He had prodded at his inner thoughts continuously but had come up empty handed each and every time.

_Why are you a faggot, Eric Cartman?_

_Why doesn't your whore of a mother give a fuck about you, Eric Cartman?_

_Why can't you keep your eyes off a dirty ginger kike, Eric Cartman?_

Ripe with anguish, he'd ask himself these set of questions hundreds of times, over and over, trying not to cry as he'd lie in the dark, absentmindedly clinging to Kyle's old blanket wrapped up with his own. Although the subtle scent had all but faded over the years, all it took was a deep inhale to elicit another response from the boy, only torturing him further. Images of the red head constantly flooded his brain as he remembered the moment and why he still kept the blanket.

Kyle had been his greatest weakness yet; He couldn't love him, but he couldn't hate him, and the notion that somehow he could not only be gay, but actually fall for a dirty Jew that could never be worthy of his time and attention left a bad taste in his mouth.

And just like that he'd start dry heaving as he'd begin to feel the sharp pang of his stomach flipping, his mouth watering as his body prepared to discharge his stomach contents as he pictured the boy yet again. However ineffective it had been, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to swallow as he clutched his abdomen, giving him all the strength he needed to keep down what his body was preparing to expel as he shuffled to the bathroom, his mind seemingly spent, giving up and into whatever torture would be waiting for him tonight.

But it would all be at his own hands.

He clung to the toilet lid, barely mustering up enough strength to lift the seat before additional waves of nausea rippled through his body, threatening to force the boy to lose what little he'd had time to choke down at lunch before darting away to avoid another one of the daywalker's stupid unprovoked questions.

He wondered how shit things must really have been for him to be winding up here yet again as he stared at the clear water in the almost empty toilet, threatening to be his only relief in sight. Feeling his mouth start to coat with saliva once again as he trembled, he shook his head with a look of grimace before finally admitting defeat, knowing he could no longer deny it would just be easier to go ahead and get it over with.

 _Maybe you should just fucking puke, you're a fat piece of shit anyways,_ he began to break down and tell himself, already starting to mentally deteriorate more than any child should ever have to admit. He could feel the cold tiles beneath his knees through the thin fabric of pajama pants, as he knelt by the toilet, his shirt clinging to him as a roll of fat spilled out over the elastic of his pants. He frowned as he unwillingly took in the sight before him, a sad, pathetic, fat little boy hunched over a toilet to cope with his problems. He sank further down, guiltily coercing himself to just get on with it, it was what he deserved.

He let his body win this time as he strained, forcefully projecting everything his stomach held as tears streamed down his fat cheeks, eyes clamped shut as shaking arms barely kept him stable. Fleeting relief washed over him as he opened his eyes, seeing chunks on the rim of the toilet as he hadn't entirely made it. Instantly another wave of nausea hit his guts, yellow bile making it's way up the boy's throat this time as his empty stomach quivered. Throat and nose burning, he took in the sight for a moment before slamming the lid down, not even bothering to flush as he used the sleeve of his other hand to wipe his mouth.

He had tried, but it still didn't feel like enough. It would never be.

In a sleepless haze he let himself drag his body to the medicine cabinet, feeling just a little bit less guilty as his eyes scanned the familiar contents. He noticed the almost empty orange pill bottles he'd sometimes steal from, knowing he had been selling them off and on for the past six weeks barely after his fourteenth birthday. But it wasn't the side hustle it had seemed, what he had led his friends and others to believe. It had been a last ditch effort, a desperate attempt to scrounge up enough cash for a pair of shoes that weren't full of holes and a couple bites of food to eat.

He had been neglected, hurt, lied to and abandoned one too many times.

Biting the inside of his lip in an attempt to ignore the guilt that soon started to settle in once again, he kept surveying the contents of the disarranged medicine cabinet before his eyes quickly fell to what he knew he had been searching for all along; His chubby fingers reached for the disposable razor, his hands effortlessly smashing the plastic and releasing three small thin blades, unused, he could tell, not that it had mattered.

Content with what he had picked out, the boy slowly started to shut the mirrored cabinet door, as if he knew what he was about to face; Staring back at him was a sad, pathetic reflection. He was met with bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, and puffy, red, tear stained cheeks. But this time he looked beyond repair, a dead look in his cold eyes not usually found in this familiar reflection. There could be no denying that this was his lowest point yet.

He held the small, cold blades of metal between his fingers, wondering if this would actually work, if he could finally get the relief he had been promised. His hand involuntarily moved to his left wrist, his fingers digging into his arm as he pushed the sleeve away, another wave of tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Maybe it would all be over soon, maybe he could finally sleep forever.

He tried to steady his shaking hand as the fresh blade barely grazed his skin, goosebumps rising as he eyed the vein on the vertical path he knew he'd have to take.

 _Do it, stop being a pussy,_ he'd try to convince himself, the blade beginning to press down just enough to push the skin but not break it.

 _You can't even fucking do it, can you?_ The tears rushing from his eyes made it hard to see what he was doing but he knew his hand was shaking too much and his willpower was too weak. He would never have the strength to kill himself. There was nothing he could do.

He let the blade slowly slip from between his fingers and fall into the sink as he sank to the floor, curling himself into fetal position as broken sobs kept escaping from him.

It was easier to choose not to get up than to deal with his problems, so that's what the boy continued to do. He had remained there for hours, unaware how much time had passed as he wallowed in self-hate. He hadn't been anticipating his suicide attempt nor the decline he was currently facing, he had only known that the time felt right, but he had lacked the balls to actually do it. _Are you even really a man?_ He thought back on it, letting it get the best of him yet again as more tears started to leave his face, snot beginning to leak from his nose.

If his mother was there, things wouldn't be so bad. It had to be close to time for her to be home, and if he could just explain what was going on maybe she could help him. Maybe she could offer some insight on what he was going through, tell him that it's actually normal. Maybe she could hold him for just a moment and tell him that he's okay.

What a fantasy.

He started to push himself off the cold floor, desperate to clean himself up and change into new pajamas, ready to eagerly greet his mother. But when he walked into the living room, he peered out of the window to notice her car still gone.

**4:37am**

As he checked the time, it had been considerably later than he had hoped, and he feared another night alone again, another night of no return from her.

_Why couldn't you just take care of your son you stupid whore? You tell yourself lies so you feel good about yourself and don't have to face me. I'm stuck here alone taking care of myself while you're out there, living in bliss, getting everything you want._

Eric sank down into the floor like the sad child he was, knowing his mother wouldn't be coming back and he'd be sleeping again in an empty, cold house alone, another night in a row. The fetal position returned as memories of the bathroom spilled into his brain again, almost coercing him to finish what he had started earlier. He desperately tried to push the thoughts away as he felt the pain and tears quickly returning, his arms gripping his knees as he tucked himself in as close as possible.

_I just need you._

_You're all I've got._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short, the next one will be a lot longer!


	3. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although it had been going exceedingly well for Kyle so far, the others couldn't say the same, and Freshman year wasn't shaping up to be what the boys had expected. It had all began to go horribly wrong, their lives twisting slowly into a downwards spiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; Couldn't decide whether to post it separately but chapter 4 should be coming really soon :D

The growing boys had been changing rapidly, struggling with puberty and various other issues of their own as the time seemed to fly by faster than they had realized in South Park. They'd soon be adults before they knew it, ready to move on and out of this podunk mountain town to finally become something of themselves.  
  
Not too long ago, they had all been so chock-full of ambition, ready to take on the world as they fulfilled their hopes and dreams, but it had become increasingly clear to them only recently that their goals were only achievable as a group. Inevitably, they'd begin to splinter off as the days slowly progressed. It had led to things getting considerably more difficult, leaving the boys alone as they wondered how they'd cope. All of their ambitious dreams had been squandered, dismally failing to the battles of their teenage angst and conflicts. They were quickly beginning to realize life was going to be a hell of a lot harder than any of them had ever anticipated.  
  
Stan had long been on the verge of breaking down every other week after he had turned fifteen, his family teetering on the brink of fracturing beyond repair.  
  
Over the years, Sharon had threatened to leave Randy countless times as he had wasted so much time and energy on Tegridy Farms. The rest of the family had seemingly been on her side. One day she had finally reached her breaking point, grabbing ahold of Randy as she looked him in the face, wondering if any of this would ever be over, wondering if they could ever have enough money.  
  
_'I just wanna move back to South Park,'_ his mother had confessed through tears, finally worn down from all of Randy's antics and neglect over the years. She had vowed to take the kids and move back into town if things hadn't started improving, and Randy had surprisingly taken her at her word.  
  
Stan was so over having to be a mediator for his parents; he could barely stand to look them in the face when he was forced to. He'd come home and lock himself in his room almost daily after school, desperately fleeing the scene. Struggling to cope with the never-ending fighting and yelling they'd so often partake in, Stan had frequently been reduced to tears, often reminding himself of Kenny.  
  
He had ended up thinking that at this point, maybe it was just a fact of life. People just inevitably end up growing apart after spending so much time together, and it was a fact he had begun to fear would someday take hold of him and Wendy. But for now, a small, fleeting moment in time, things were seemingly good.  
  
The erratic yelling and pounding would always be enough to snap him out of even the deepest of his thoughts, bringing him back to his stark reality as he was painfully reminded of what his life was.  
  
_Maybe one day soon, I'll be outta this shitty town...  
One day..._  
  
He would often find himself thinking back to Kenny again, who was unquestionably going through the same shit as he was but still somehow unarguably worse. A pang of guilt would overtake him each and every time as he so vividly recalled the day that had so clearly been the writing on the walls.  
  
Kenny had shown up at the bus stop with a fresh, new bruise just barely visible on his face, which had prompted him to inquisitively ask what it was, not entirely expecting an answer. But Kenny had just silently stood there, watching the other three pairs of eyes stare at him, waiting.  
  
_My.. dad was gonna hit Karen... So I stopped him,_ he had confessed, moving his parka to the side to reveal the full extent of the green and purple bruising that stretched across his gaunt cheek, underneath his pale blue eye.  
  
Kenny knew he was all his siblings had. He knew he'd have to be there, to stand up for them no matter what it took. After staying with Cartman for as long as possible to avoid home life, Kenny had come home most evenings to find his father and, often, mother drunk. He'd usually be back in time to hear them threatening to hit one of his siblings, a convenient target of their frustration. Deep down, he knew he had to come back home to be there for them, but truth be told, most nights spent at Cartman's house ended up in Kenny having to talk himself into leaving, desperate to uncover whatever secrets the reserved boy held.  
  
Kenny's newly found obsession would soon start to overtake him and permeate other thoughts, locking his mind into a cyclic, chaotic battle as he forced himself to regurgitate details, remember anything useful. He knew Cartman, and he knew he had been scarce the past few months, somehow a lot quieter, colder. He had tried his damnedest to pry for information, much to no avail as he had soon realized that the boy would reveal nothing. Kenny had no idea what he was in for.  
  
He had tried his hardest to study him, read what was on his mind, but of course, Cartman was different, someone even he still couldn't quite understand.  
  
Eric thought he knew what people were; He could see straight through their bullshit and read them almost instantly. No matter what myriad of situations he often found himself in, he continuously thought he was in control; But the boy couldn't have been more wrong. He hadn't expected his weakness to shine through so soon, threatening to expose his inner-self. The fragile little boy had built up walls around him, a smokescreen, a façade, and it was all threatening to violently be stripped away.  
  
He had tried fiercely to forget the night he had spent on his cold bathroom floor and the countless others that had followed soon after failing every time. He couldn't stop feeling abandoned and hopeless, yet somehow responsible for his sorry excuse of a mother, thoughts running wild as the guilt would start to weigh on his conscience. His wounds cut deeper as he sickeningly questioned for a split second if maybe Kyle could actually care about him. After the thought had started plaguing his mind for so long, he began to entertain the idea, unaware of the self-loathing that would soon follow afterward. It was not only laughably impossible but really fucking stupid, and he knew it. There was no way they could or would ever end up together; Kyle abhorred him. He'd retain that feeling for the rest of their life, and nothing could change that. _Not that Cartman wanted it to..._  
  
Kyle had been so blissfully unaware of it all, barely stopping to dedicate time to Stan or Kenny on such a busy schedule as he struggled to juggle his numerous AP classes alongside his basketball practicing. He had respectively gotten better at the sport after a growth spurt last year, gaining a few inches on all the other guys in the group effectively rendering their jokes useless. He had been in the gym almost daily after school, arduously training as he hoped to make the next cut for the tryouts this season. Kyle let nothing distract him on or off the court, continuing to pass every test and exam with flying colors. He knew his parents would secretly hate him for it, but basketball was what his heart truly wanted, no matter how passionate he had once been for academia.  
  
Gerald had tried to no avail to talk him into following in his path and becoming a lawyer numerous times, giving up only after realizing he was getting nowhere. Sheila had decided to join in as well, admitting that she didn't care what Kyle wanted to do as long as he kept studying to get into a prestigious University. Now that he was finally in high school, he could begin to start his own life. Kyle was determined to make the team if it took everything he had, following his own dreams rather than those of his parents.  
  
Someday he hoped to play for the Denver Nuggets, and nothing could get in his way.  
  
Although it had been going exceedingly well for Kyle so far, the others couldn't say the same, and Freshman year wasn't shaping up to be what the boys had expected. It had all began to go horribly wrong, their lives twisting slowly into a downwards spiral.  
  
Things had considerably taken a turn for the worst after the seemingly innocent Valentine's Day dance.  
  
**~**  
  
"Who was that for?" Kenny interrogated as he mysteriously followed closely behind Cartman. He had just witnessed him quickly scribbling a supposedly anonymous note attached to a crimson rose before throwing it into the pile along with the others as he dropped a decrepit five-dollar bill on the white makeshift booth set up just outside the cafeteria.  
  
"Where the fuck did you come from, Kenny? ...Never mind. It wasn't for anyone. Mind your business, just go back to lunch." He had discarded him as he avoided eye contact, not wanting to involve the suspicious boy, afraid to admit what he had just done. Cartman quickly scurried off, out of his eyesight but never his thoughts.  
  
After taking just a moment to wonder why Cartman didn't rip on him for not being able to afford a rose, he returned to the lunch table to see Stan and Kyle almost done with their food, Butters still slurping up his chocolate pudding cup. He attempted to join in on their conversation, unable to focus as his mind continued to be occupied by the mysterious boy.  
  
Who could Eric care enough about? So much that he actually paid to send a rose to them? Maybe it had just been a stupid prank, an elaborate plan that would somehow benefit him in the end. He had no idea what the fuck his intentions were, but he had planned to soon find out.  
  
"Dude, it's this Saturday. I think you should just go with Bebe, it would be better than going alone and... Wendy even told me she already sent you a rose," Stan teased him, nudging his shoulder with one hand as he squeezed another packet of ketchup onto his hotdog with the other.  
  
Kyle's face distorted into a look of displeasure for a moment as he watched him before he began to speak again, egging on his disgust. "Besides, we're all going, and I don't want you to be without a date. You'll end up making us look bad. It's the Valentine's Day dance, for Christ's sake. Just say yes, Kyle, you don't even have to like her. Just come with us, _please_ ," he begged. Kyle exhaled, exhausted as he rolled his eyes, deliberating his options.  
  
"Wait, Cartman has a date?" Kyle suddenly blurted out, emerald eyes threatening to lunge out of his skull as he arched his eyebrows, fearing for the worst. His brain had finally processed the words; The cruel possibility that somehow Cartman had scored a date to the dance, unlike him, had been a blow to his already damaged ego. It played out like a sick joke before him as he wondered when exactly he had missed that vital piece of information.  
  
Having been so caught up with basketball and his arduous studies, maybe he had just missed the perfect opportunity to land a lasting, satisfying relationship. After-all, Kyle seemed to have a lot going for him, despite his flaws; Sure, maybe he wasn't the most handsome guy around, but he was athletic, and his intelligence could compensate for that, right? Certainly, Kyle was more of a catch than Eric Cartman of all people.  
  
_There's no way he could possibly be involved in anything sincere; It's gotta be complete bullshit._  
  
"I don't know, why do you even care? Just say you'll come with us." He glanced again at Kyle as he frowned, a frustrated look quickly erased from his face as his blue eyes glistened with anticipation.  
  
"Fine, _whatever_ ," the other boy hastily agreed, realizing the dilemma he was now facing, "I'll go with Bebe. Just promise you'll shut up about it," he snapped, letting out an exasperated sigh.  
  
"Thank _God_. I'll try, Dude," he rolled his eyes as he spoke, oblivious to the disinterest amongst the group as he continued ranting on, "Wendy's been leading the committee on decorating for the dance, so it's all I've had to hear about since god damn January. I'm not really sure how much more of it I can handle, honestly."  
  
"Yeah, well, you signed up for that shit," Kenny mumbled, finally standing with his lunch tray in hand mere seconds before the bell rang, signifying the end of the lunch period.  
  
"He's.. not wrong," Kyle agreed under his breath, barely audible. He subconsciously refused to move, his gaze fixed straight ahead at nothing in particular as he delved into his thoughts, the world coming to life in the background.  
  
"Whatever, just talk to Bebe and let her know you decided to go with her. I gotta get to World History, you coming?" Stan sulked before slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Deviating from their daily routine, he left Kyle behind as he began the journey alone to class, silently admitting the other two boys had been right.  
  
"Why does he care if I have a date so much," Kyle asked himself quietly, not moving an inch as everyone else shuffled by around him, moving on with their day. Kenny, jealous of Butters' ability to immediately dash to calculus, continued to reflect for a moment as he carefully decided which words to choose.  
  
"I don't know, dude, maybe he's just worried about you," he offered, unsure of what else to say as he shrugged his left shoulder, knowing they'd have to get going pretty soon if they had any hopes of getting to class before the next bell rang.  
  
"Oh please, so he's just suddenly concerned about me having a date at fifteen? Gimme a break. He probably just doesn't wanna look bad in front of Wendy. Un- _fucking_ -believable. Whatever, I'm going to History," Kyle scowled as he flounced away, leaving his pile of napkins and empty tray atop the table.  
  
'What the fuck does that even mean?' Kenny anxiously pondered as he disposed of their trash before belatedly making his way to Wood Working.  
  
**~**  
  
"So, as I'm sure you're all aware, today was the last day to send out your roses. In a little while, they're gonna be going door to door handing them out. Just study in the meantime and keep your traps shut," the irritable teacher advised as he swiveled in his chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his crooked nose as he continued grading the quizzes.  
  
"Dude," Kyle whispered as he leaned forward, trying his best to get Stan's attention, who was continuing to ignore him. "Okay, look. I'll go with Bebe. Just tell me why it's so important to you," he questioned as he witnessed his best friend pretend to read the open textbook.  
  
"I said to keep your traps shut. That shouldn't be too hard, kids!" The old man warned again as he shook his fist through the air, trying to display his authority to no avail.  
  
"...I guess Bebe kinda has a thing for you," he finally replied, his voice the faintest whisper. "Wendy said she never shuts up about you and how she wants to kiss you again, and I guess I kinda thought you'd like the opportunity."  
  
Kyle immediately retrieved the suppressed memory from the deepest recess of his brain against his will; He had remembered the first kiss he shared with her when they were kids. It had been in the treehouse, a dare that Wendy had instigated, much to his dismay. Although he hadn't enjoyed it, he had been thrilled nonetheless that his first kiss was behind him; to say that he was inexperienced was an understatement.  
  
Kyle's eyebrows knitted together as he reflected on it and, somehow unimpressed with his expectations, found himself agreeing nevertheless.  
  
"Yeah, I'll go with her. Maybe I might actually enjoy myself..." Kyle trailed off as his thoughts meandered, apparent he had been mostly trying to convince himself.  
  
Suddenly two students burst through the door carrying with them two dozen roses; Wide smiles decorating their faces as they announced how excited they were to be there, eager to begin as they readied the list of lucky recipients.  
  
"The first rose is for... Token Black!"  
  
He had accepted it, fully knowing it had been from his longtime girlfriend, Nichole.  
  
"The second rose is for... Kyle Broflovski!" She beamed as she waited for the boy to claim it.  
  
The astonished redhead was handed a single rose, his eyes darting to the thin slip of paper wrapped around the stem. He promptly thumbed it open to see what it'd reveal, only for it to contain a drawing of a single tiny heart. He queried who could have possibly sent the flower as he absentmindedly pushed his thumb to the thorns, forgetting about Bebe.  
  
"The next rose I have is for... Stan Marsh!"  
  
The raven-haired boy accepted it graciously, knowing Wendy had been the one to send it. He read the secret love note before folding it up and slipping it into his pocket as he cooed, "she's such a romantic."  
  
"The next rose... is for the lucky Kyle Broflovski!" She winked as she handed the unexpecting boy another rose, to the disbelief of not only him but the entire class.  
  
Moments turned to minutes as he hesitated reading the note, unsure if he could handle its contents as his heart thumped against his ribcage. After impatiently deciding he had waited long enough, he ripped the paper from the stem, unfolding it and flipping it over in his palm. He quickly remembered the conversation from earlier as he saw that it had only been another heart, but this time it was decorated with the initials KB and BS. It had to have come from Bebe, undoubtedly. He placed it on his desk alongside the other as he let his head sink into his folded arms, wondering why she had taken such a liking to him.  
  
"Next rose is for... Craig Tucker!"  
  
He thanked the girl in his usual monotone voice as he promptly accepted the rose and read the note, knowing Tweak had been his admirer.  
  
"Another rose for Kyle Broflovski!" She continued gleefully.  
  
The boy's mouth hung open in shock as he timidly extended his hand, acquiring yet another rose as his scarlet cheeks burned with embarrassment. His eyes shut tight, refusing to read the note that he nonchalantly caressed with his fingers as he helplessly thought of the anonymous sender. Caving after fighting the urge for no longer than a professedly infinite minute, he desperately opened the folded paper to unveil a short quote.  
  
**_This is my confession  
As dark as I am,  
I will always  
find enough light  
to adore you to pieces,  
with all of my pieces_**  
  
The bewildered look on Kyle's face remained as he questioned the source and sincerity of the note in front of him, eyes repeatedly reading the lines until they meant nothing. Unimpressed by the word choice, he wrinkled his nose, deciding he had barely even appreciated the effort. Meticulously ripping the paper off the rose as he bit his lip, Kyle was careful not to tear it as he strived to recall where exactly he had seen the familiar handwriting before. After folding it twice, he gently popped his phone out of its case before slipping the cryptic message inside.  
  
"Wow, another one for Kyle! They must really love you," she winked again, handing him another one.  
  
He instantly studied the slip of paper, flipping it over to discover it was blank, disappointedly revealing nothing.  
  
After a few more had been handed out, Kyle was convinced for a brief moment that it had ended before being proven wrong; Once they were finally down to the last rose, he found his name being unexpectedly called again.  
  
"And Kyle Broflovski, the last rose is for you, lover boy!" She grinned at him again as she delivered the final rose, giving a concluding nod and smile before collecting the list and heading to the door alongside her companion.  
  
_I... I don't understand..._  
  
He proceeded to watch them as they left, wondering where all these interested people had been when he was agreeing to take Bebe to the dance. After a second, he swore he spotted a figure passing by the door that vaguely resembled Cartman before shaking his head to rid himself of the ridiculous thought.  
  
But, unknown to Kyle, he had been right; The boy had been outside the door, observing the scene as he wondered how countless others could have been so infatuated with the dirty jew as he questioned which of the half a dozen roses could have belonged to him.  
  
Kyle delicately grasped the rose, wondering how he could have received so many; A single rose from Bebe, understandable. Who sent the other four? Nothing made sense; No one had previously shown interest in going to the dance or even flirting with him.  
  
He finally opened the little note to reveal another tiny heart, this one colored red with a small question scribbled at the bottom:  
  
**_Dance with me?_**  
  
Stan looked at him questioningly, knowing he shared the same confusion as Kyle, who could only respond with a shrug and a shake of his head as he, too, wondered what the fuck just happened.  
  
**-**  
  
Kyle had been unable to concentrate the remainder of the day as he zoned in and out, the long minutes cruelly ticking by. The notes seared into his memory as he attempted and failed to study anything in his textbook. After realizing the day would be a lost cause, Kyle had all but given up in his last period, as well, eagerly watching the clock waiting for the day to come to an end. All he wanted to know was who had been responsible for sending the other roses and what their motives could possibly be. He wasn't sure he'd get any answers anytime soon.  
  
After the bell to dismiss them finally echoed throughout the school, Kyle quickly stood, gathering his things and stuffing his papers and notebook into his backpack. After realizing he had left the class carrying half a dozen roses in hand, he quickly cursed himself silently before stopping to stuff them in his bag, desperate to avoid anyone needlessly ripping on him.  
  
He was on his way to the gym when he was intercepted by the last two people he wanted to encounter at the moment.  
  
"Why, hello _Kahl_ ," Cartman drawled, looking him up and down as Kenny watched in amusement, "What brings you here?"  
  
"What brings me to the gym..? Basketball practice, fatass. Now get outta the way," He commanded, trying to dart past the bigger boy before being abruptly elbowed in the side.  
  
"What, did the poor little Jew not get any roses?" Cartman teased as he feigned sympathy, eyes glued to Kyle's.  
  
"Stop fucking calling me that, and what do you care, Cartman? I got more than one, actually," he admitted, nervously glancing away to break eye contact. "I'm sure you're just mad you don't even have a date for the dance." He crossed his arms in a fit of frustration, causing his gym bag to fly over his shoulder.  
  
"Oh, but I do, Kyle. You're going alone, though, I presume?" He quickly retorted, never looking away from the boy's face.  
  
"Guess again, fatass. I actually do have a date," the redhead found himself smiling, "Who was stupid enough to say yes to you?" He questioned, his mind going over the possibilities as he glanced at Kenny, sharing his look of bemusement. They both kept watching Cartman, waiting for an answer.  
  
"Heidi," he shortly bragged before rolling his striking eyes, "Who the hell is going with _you_?"  
  
"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going with Bebe," he spat, suddenly queasy and unaware of what he truly felt for the first time in his life.  
  
Cartman finally let out a cocky laugh as he processed what Kyle had said.  
  
"Bebe?" Kenny blurted out, astonished, watching the two with bulging blue eyes.  
  
"You know she's a slut don't you?" Cartman warned, eyes burning into Kyle's as if to threaten him.  
  
"No, she's not, Cartman. Whatever just drop it."  
  
"You're going with a total slut that couldn't even be bothered to send you a rose, Kahl?"  
  
"She did send me a rose! Look, what do you even care, fatass? I've got practice today, so I don't have time for your shit, anyway. _MOVE_ ," he hoarsely shouted as he turned away, storming past the two boys and pushing the gymnasium door open.  
  
Kenny knew he had to get to work soon but was too desperate for an answer to the question that had been plaguing him since lunch.  
  
"One of them was yours, wasn't it?" He finally asked as they both stood there, watching the door slam shut.  
  
"What the fuck did you just say?" Cartman's brows furrowed, clearly understanding what Kenny was alluding to, shocked he had been so quick to take notice.  
  
"You're going to the dance with Heidi, but you didn't send her a rose. If it was for her, you would have just admitted it earlier when I asked, so it had to be for someone else," he thought aloud, causing Cartman to blush with fury. "Just admit you sent one to Kyle."  
  
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Kenny. Mind your business from now on, you poor piece of shit," he spat with hatred before storming off in the opposite direction much like Kyle had, leaving Kenny finally free to get to work, questions answered.  
  
**~**  
  
Throwing his bag into the corner of his room as he always did, Stan tried to forget the day's problems as he collapsed onto the bed. He did what he ultimately shouldn't have, giving in to his weakness as he reached for the phone to call Wendy, who had usually been his last resort. She was his security, something needed now more than ever; Stan had been crumbling easier and easier recently, and no one was taking notice. His fingers idly scrolled until he found her contact info, hesitating as he read her name on his screen. He nervously pressed it, anxiously pushing the phone up to his ear; Each ring that echoed further convinced him she wasn't going to answer as he impatiently glanced around the room, biting his nails.  
  
"Stan? You know I'm in the middle of cheer practice right now. What's up?" She asked her partner, concern lacing her voice.  
  
He gazed at the ceiling as he lay on his back, fidgeting with the old, worn blanket as he spoke.  
  
"Sorry, it's just my parents... I'm not really sure what's going on with them, but things seem to be getting worse..."  
  
"Stan, I'm sorry.. things will be alright. We'll have time to talk about this afterward, okay?"  
  
"Promise we'll be okay, Wendy. Promise me we'll always be together." He could hear the desperation in his voice as he spoke, amazed that Wendy was still there.  
  
"Stan, we can talk after practice. I have to go," she said as she practically hung up, leaving him feeling a slight tinge of resentment that she had refused to set aside time for even a short conversation.  
  
Stan impatiently sat up in his bed, knowing he had one of two options. He couldn't exactly call Kyle to explain his problems since his best friend was at basketball practice, and he was unlikely to understand the problem, anyway. Kyle had never been in a serious relationship, after all. Without much hesitation, he dialed the only other person he could think of, fully aware he was definitely at work.  
  
"Kenny, dude. Do you have a second? I need some advice," he confessed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he cringed hearing his words spoken aloud.  
  
"What is it, dude," he whispered, dodging his coworkers to find a secluded area to talk.  
  
"I- it's Wendy," he said, swallowing as a lump formed in his throat. "I'm kinda scared I'm losing her," he admitted.  
  
After hearing him yell back at people in the background, he finally heard Kenny suggest in a somewhat distracted tone, "Look, the Valentine's Day dance is this weekend, right? Why don't you guys get together or something?"  
  
" _Wait_ , are you saying..?" he began to question as he processed the boy's words.  
  
"Yeah, you should totally fuck her. They tend to get really attached after that, trust me." The boy winked as he thought of his past conquests, ignoring the fact Stan couldn't see it.  
  
"Kenny, holy shit. Are you sure, though? Like, I don't know if I'm ready, dude."  
  
"Just trust me. Oh, and don't forget protection, dude. I usually just pull out right before I nut though, hasn't failed me yet," he laughed. "Look, I gotta go, just think about it!" he shouted as he hung up.  
  
Stan had always expected himself to be the first out of the group to lose their virginity, not Kenny. The boy had also seemed to possess enough experience to give him advice he didn't know if he was even ready to hear and, the longer he thought on it, slowly became more convinced it could be what their relationship needed.  
  
He was determined; nothing could change his mind now except Wendy herself. Unable to recall if she had mentioned being on the pill, he briefly felt a shudder of worry wash over him before reminding himself things would be alright, confident in his ability to score condoms by then.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to post as often as I can without rushing it! Thanks, everyone for taking the time to read my first Kyman fic, you put a smile on my face! C:
> 
> I'm not active on Tumblr but here's my Discord if anyone would like to chat or has a Kyman group <3  
> Squiffles#4211


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